Water You

1.31.25

Fucking technology. The older I get, the less and less I know or care about it. My homework from Lady J yesterday is to go back to my notebook and trusty #2 for journaling. Handwriting activates a different part of the brain than typing does. It also allows my emotions and feelings to flow freely out of me and onto the paper with zero fucks given for typographical and grammatical errors that can be fixed when I transfer the words to my computer.

This year is all about watering me. Reading, attending as many meetings as possible, listening to speakers with more sober life experiences, and anything else that will help me absorb as much knowledge and gain as many tools and coping skills as possible to treat my disease.

I decided to start growing some small house plants at the same time so I can watch their physical growth. I know I am growing spiritually, mentally, and emotionally but I can’t see that as easily. The plants are a daily reminder of my internal growth. I have an aloe vera for myself and friends who are accident prone; two cactuses I have no idea what kind, except the kind you can buy at Wal-Mart on a Friday night at 9pm; three succulents; and two starters from a Christmas cactus. The starters are sentimental because they are from a friend’s plant he bought on a rehab field trip to a local nursery. I’m not bitter but would like to say I did not get to go on a field trip to the local nursery at the same rehab! I’m only plant-sitting one of the starters for my roommate who was also at the same rehab at the same time and didn’t get to go on a field trip to the local nursery either, again not bitter. I’m sure he could grow it himself, possibly even better, but the basement apartment is only half-light. And I may have also borrowed his water bottle permanently.

I’m back to an old habit of using my #2 to write. Growing and watering myself, and new plants.